#i should have made this mistukiki

[sabraeal]

The Noblest Prince the World Hath Known

Written for @onedivinemisfit on the occasion of her birth!! She asked for a little bit of an Scandinavian Lore AU we had tossed back and forth a year ago, with Shirayuki as a huldra and Obi as svartalfar, and I was all too happy to oblige.

When father sat upon Tanbarun’s throne, he loomed head and shoulders over any who approached, a giant among men. Yet Raj sits in the very same chair, and he has to crane his neck to peer over the crowd.

It’s unfair, that’s what it is. He could see the doors if he wanted-- he’s not small, like Clarines’ prince. Or well, their second one. He hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting their king-to-be, but he’s heard rumors. Three whole alen if talk is to be believed; which it never is, and even less so now that he’s seen Zen is only little over two and a fot.

But if it was, the first prince of Clarines would be able to see the doors from the throne-- which he never would, because only the royal line of Tanbarun was allowed to sit upon it. But in this particular thought exercise-- what his tutors liked to call the tedious puzzles they inflicted upon him as training and to increase his moral fiber-- he could and he was, and Izana Wisteria, due to be first of his name, saw easily from one end of the hall to the other.

Unlike Raj, who could not. Or rather, unless he wanted to look like he was trying, which according to various philosophers on the subject of royalty, was a mistake that could only result in tragic consequences. That’s the hardest part of this whole princing business--  trying to look like you’re not trying while you’re really trying quite hard.

“Do you see her?” His neck aches from all this effort. Especially all the effort he’s putting in to make it seem effortless. “Is she here?”

“It does not seem as if she is, Your Highness.” Sakaki shifts beside him, needlessly vigilant and still mild as ever. “Do not strain yourself. I can see quite easily--”

“You don’t need to rub it in,” he mutters, slouching into the red velvet. “You’re an adult after all. If my father is any stick to measure myself by, I’ll be quite tall, Sakaki. Even taller than you. Three alen at least!”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“You might try to sound like you mean it.” He folds his arms across his chest, elegantly sullen. Father might say such a look isn’t becoming of a man of his station, but Raj can name at least three ancestors whose official portraits contained a regal slouch. That seems more than enough to prove his point. “Why isn’t she here yet? Doesn’t she know royalty arrives last? It’s terribly rude to make a prince wait.”

Sakaki clears his throat. “Not for the vette.”

Raj huffs, cross. “I don’t see why not! It’s a simple precedent. One does not keep their betters waiting.”

His aide hums, gaze fixed to the doors. “In the opinion of the vette, they have no betters.”

“No betters?” Raj squawks. “Did not the Lord give man dominion over the land and the animals? And then among them, did he not raise up his chosen as kings?”

The muscle in Sakaki’s cheek twitches. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Raj throws up his hands. “Then what’s the problem?”

His aide clears his throat, so delicate, before he says, “I am afraid they are not much moved by the laws of Christ when so many of them are older than the Lord himself.”

He doesn’t realized his jaw has dropped until it is cushioned by his cravat. “You cannot be serious.”

Shirayuki-- the protector of the wood herself-- hardly looks older than twenty. A damn sight younger, by his count. He’d accept a hundred years for her, give or take, but older than Christ--?

Certainly not. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sakaki,” he scoffs, waving a hand. “You should know better than to believe old wives’ tales. Nothing could live so long.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” His mouth pulls thin. “Still, they do not consider themselves to be subject of any mortal king. They rule themselves.”

“W-well we didn’t tell them they could do that!” Raj sputters. His fingers loop into the grooves of the throne, golden claws dripping down from his fingertips. “Ridiculous! What makes them think they can flout the will of God?”

Saki’s mouth twitches; it is not toward a smile. “What do they need with the Lord’s kingdom when they were once gods themselves?”

He stares, heart beating fast in his chest. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, Your Highness.” Sakaki’s shoulders set in a tense line. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe. It matters what they do.”

Raj’s mouth works uselessly, trying to bid an answer to fall from him lips but--

But he is saves but a stir in the crowd, by the grand doors swinging wide, and there she is--

Shirayuki.

Her hair shines in a burnished halo, reminding him of nothing more than the stain-glass angel in the chapel, her arms thrown open over the altar, blazing in the morning sun. It is no wonder than man used to look upon women like her and call them goddess when even he, Defender of the Faith, the Lord’s most devout champion, sees her and only divinity leaps to mind.

“The vette is here,” Sakaki says.

“I can see that,” he snaps, jutting out a hand. “She’s standing right there!”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The nobles bend to her in awe, but it is her companion that keeps them skirting back, fear in their eyes. Obi may be as formally dressed as any man in this room, but whereas Shirayuki can pass for something more than human, he is something less. His teeth flash sharp and white against the black of his skin, so dark that he seems to consume light rather than repel it.

Svartalfar, some whisper, but on the same breath, demon. Even wearing his master’s livery, Obi cannot escape the suspicions of another, darker one.

“You’re supposed to open the floor with her.”

“I know that!” Raj jolts from his chair, storming down the dais. “I planned it!”

Sakaki lingers a step behind him. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Raj slows his stride as he approaches, taking care not to seem too eager, too hurried. He will be king one day, after all. A king rushes nowhere; the entire world spins at his pace--

“Prince Raj.” A slender hand holds itself out to him, and when he chases the sun-kissed skin, it leads him to Shirayuki’s radiant smile. “You’ll face me?”

He scowls, shoulders itching beneath the wool of his jackets. “Coming from you, Lady Shirayuki, that sounds like an invitation to duel.”

“Then let us set our terms.” There is no malice in her words, no challenge; only the playful sing-song of her kind. “We’ll see if we’ve managed to improve this bond between us.”

Her shadow huffs at that, but it’s good humored, no threat within it. Even Sakaki’s hand doesn’t stray toward his hilt.

“If you have selected the ballroom as your field of honor, and dancing as your weapon--” he takes her hand, guiding her into his arms-- “then your victory is assured.”

Quite dashing all in all, if he does say so himself. A real tour de force

The crowd gasps, though not at his prowess; that is solely the provenance of Shirayuki’s dress-- or rather, what is inside it. He leads her onto the floor, and that they all see what he did that day in the woods outside Tanbarun: a beautiful woman whose back cuts away from her flesh, as hollow inside as a log.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” She grimaces as the orchestra hesitantly plucks out their next piece, eyes still stuck on the huldra in their midst. “I’m not exactly, um...”

“Come now.” He smiles wide, cajoling. “I have seen Zen’s winged vette on the floor. Even with a fraction of her grace, surely you are nothing but a-- OW.”

“I warned you,” she hissed, the cream of her face flushing a rosy pink. “I’m not very skilled in, um...” She bites her lip; less divine presence and more comely young debutante. “My gifts lie in other areas.”

“Ah-haaa,” he groans, resisting the urge to cradle his foot. “Yes. I’m sure I’ll be glad of that later. For now we must...make do.”

She nods, and ah, she makes it so easy to forget is not some pretty mortal girl. That is the way of the huldr; always longing to be human. “Sorry.”

“No, no.” This time the band chooses another, easier tune, upbeat but well-paced. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a terrible partner, if you can believe it. I mean--” Sakaki glares at him from across the floor-- “not that you’re terrible.”

“It’s fine,” she giggles, stumbling over her feet. “There’s no reason not to call a spade a spade.”

He stares down at her, her cheeks rosy as any maiden’s. “I think you will find very few people think that way.”

Her brow quirks, sly. “Ah, I forget. Mortals are so fragile. Even your feelings are delicate.”

“A funny thing for a vette to say,” he scoffs, leading her into a turn-- one she botches, stumbling over her own feet. “Wasn’t it one of yours that wanted to destroy the world because it bothered him that another was so well loved?”

He expects her to frown, to show him the same gentle disappointment he’d come to expect from her these last few months, but--

“They did.” Her mouth curves, mischievous. “Perhaps you should take that as a warning, Prince Raj. It could take so little to displease me.”

She’s teasing; the humor lights her face like the sun does the dawn. But his heart sinks even still, hand tightening on her waist.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to demand satisfaction,” he admits, sullen. “It was my duty to keep you safe, and I’ve done a terrible job of it.”

She laughs softly, like the babbling of a brook. “Prince Raj--”

“No, it’s true,” he insists. “What good is a prince who can’t even keep a woman from being kidnapped in his own castle? Name your second.” He winces. “I suppose it is Obi, and I have no chance at all.”

She shakes her head, mouth curved in a rueful smile. “You’re not the first to blame himself for my troubles, and it’s no more your fault that his. Besides, you aren’t Zen,” she reminds him, “you have only men at your disposal. And no man is a match for a vette.”

He bites his cheek. It had only taken him, the useless prince of Tanbarun, to chase her away from her place of power. Whatever the vette had been, they were it no longer.

That wasn’t a point to bring up on the dance floor, however.

“I’m glad you wore the dress,” he says instead, and this time when he spins her out, she comes back gracefully into his arms. “I was afraid you might not like it.”

“Ah, yes.” She blinks down at the gown, missing a step he quickly compensates for. “It is quite...revealing.”

“I thought it made a point.” His fingers twitch on the silk. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure where to hold you.”

Shirayuki laughs, bell-like and clear. “I’m just like anyone else.”

Raj glances at her from the corner of his eyes. “Far from it.” He coughs. “I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered from the last time I saw you.”

He nods at the buds that stud the line of her back, the moss growing lush along the edges of it. None of the brown lingered, nor the bare patches.

“Ah.” Her gaze tangles with his, his heart beating faster. “What withers only grows back stronger. I will bloom again.”

“Lady Shirayuki, when it does...” His heart pounds, words choking him with their earnestness. “I would like to see it.”

Her feet still entirely beneath her. “If you are asking me as a friend, Prince Raj...” Her mouth breaks into a wide smile. “The sure. Happily.”